


Washed Up Souls

by CR Noble (erudite12), CurlzForMetal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurricane Katrina, M/M, Major Character Injury, NOLA, Semi-Slow Burn, Soulmate AU, canon-divergent pre-pilot, dean cas reverse bang, demi cas, openly bi dean, temporary mcd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-19 12:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19357120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erudite12/pseuds/CR%20Noble, https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurlzForMetal/pseuds/CurlzForMetal
Summary: Castiel has wandered the Earth for millennia, hiding from Heaven and looking for a soulmate he shouldn’t have. All he has to go on is the phrase written on his forearm: the last thing he’ll hear his soulmate say before they die. He’s living as a human on the outskirts of New Orleans when Hurricane Katrina hits and he hears that phrase in a prayer.Dean Winchester never bothered searching for his soulmate. Then, after a hunt, he wakes up in a strange bed with a serious wound and no recollection of how he got there. And there’s a strange, but really attractive, guy taking care of him.As the days pass and the two men learn more about each other, Castiel realizes his feelings for Dean. But what will it take for Dean to admit his own feelings for Cas?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This has been a crazy busy month for me haha. This is my third bang fic posting this month, and the first time I've ever participated in DCRB! I hope you guys enjoy it!!
> 
> I have a couple of thank yous to hand out!
> 
> First thank you to my beta! [amirosebooks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amirosebooks/works) you really came through in the clutch for me and helped me out with a lot of good ideas!
> 
> Also a quick thank you to Fanfiction's Mightiest Heros (you know who you are), Lou, and Nyx, no matter what you guys always help keep me motivated and I appreciate the shit out of you <3
> 
> Lastly make sure you all show some love to [CurlzforMetal](https://curlzformetal.tumblr.com/) for the absolutely amazing art that inspired this fic!! I'm glad I was able to pinch hit for you, and I hope you enjoy the story your art inspired!
> 
> Check out the art masterpost [here](https://curlzformetal.tumblr.com/post/185879224643/heres-the-deancasrb-art-for-the-fic-washed-up) and please like and reblog it everywhere because literally everyone deserves to see this talent

  
The wind moaned, whipping harshly against the walls of Castiel’s small, simple one bedroom house. Sitting at his kitchen table in his most comfortable faded t-shirt and jeans, he sipped tea from his steaming mug and paid no mind to the noise as he turned to the next page of _Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?_ The storm had been raging outside for hours and he knew it wouldn’t stop anytime soon.

Most of the people in the area evacuated in anticipation of the hurricane, but Castiel stayed behind and helped those who had no means of escaping prepare as well as they could. It was unnecessary for him to leave as a strong combination of his angelic abilities and powerful witchcraft protected his home. This was not the first natural disaster he had ever seen and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Castiel drained the last of his tea and sighed. “Time for a new cup.” He walked over to the counter and turned on the electric kettle, popping a fresh tea bag into his mug. Staring out the window as he waited for the water to heat, he watched as the rain beat down relentlessly. Debris flew in the howling wind, smacking against bending trees and the walls of his house. He could already tell the damage would be devastating. The prayers of those that had stayed behind were a constant background but Castiel was only one angel. He would help as much as he could when the storm passed.

For now, he would listen to only the most desperate of prayers.

The water was bubbling when Castiel poured it into the mug, letting the tea steep for a few minutes before adding a spoonful of honey to it. Though it certainly would have been faster to simply magic the tea into being, he enjoyed the process. He’d been living among humans for so long now that doing some things the normal, non-magical way had become like second nature, habitual. When in Rome, as the saying went. 

Returning to his seat, Castiel read to keep his mind off the cries for help. It was difficult and as time passed it became even more so. For the first time in a very long while, he wished Gabriel were with him. He could use the companionship and the distraction. Even if it meant discussing the endless search for his human soulmate. Of all the pale words that marked Castiel’s skin, only one phrase was dark enough that he could actually read it. In the millennia that he’d walked the Earth, he’d heard them a handful of times. But they had yet to lose their color.

Having lost interest in the novel, for the time being, Castiel absently traced the words on his forearm and toyed with the bracelets on his wrists. It was a cruel trick, he thought, that God had made the mark the last words humans hear from their soulmate. His mug drained and his book abandoned on the table, there was nothing to redirect his thoughts from the numerous and scattered prayers. They overlapped and drowned each other out, but if he closed his eyes and concentrated, Castiel could filter them, flip through them like radio stations.

_Please, keep my mother safe…_

_God, we offer our prayers for the people of Louisiana…_

_Let us make it through this storm…_

He listened to them for hours as they grew more and more urgent. The rain came down more heavily, blowing in sideways as the wind beat exponentially harder against the walls.

**_God someone please anyone_ **

Castiel’s eyes snapped open. The all too familiar phrase was the desperate prayer of a dying man. With a flutter of wings, he disappeared from the kitchen of the tiny house on the outskirts of New Orleans.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel made it to the shore of the Mississippi River very quickly but he didn’t miss the devastation that had already been wrought by the hurricane. Homes near the river had been destroyed by the rising, rushing floodwaters, their pieces were now floating driftwood. Perhaps that had been the reason for the man’s desperate prayer. The wind was vicious and the water was high and choppy under the still heavy rainfall.

With a wave of his hand as his bare feet set down into the wet sand, the turbulent river stilled and the wind and rain diverted around him. Castiel had created a protective bubble that was large enough to stave off the storm within a fifty-yard radius. It moved with him as he walked along the shoreline, searching for the source of a prayer that was burned onto his skin when he left his home but had since faded, barely legible against the creamy flesh of his vessel. 

It didn’t take long to find him among the wreckage that had unceremoniously fallen onto the sandy riverbank. The toe of a boot stuck out from below a large piece of driftwood that had most certainly come from one of the many houses built along the river. Castiel lifted it easily, tossing it to one side to reveal his soulmate, still and unbreathing. The dark gray henley the man wore was soaked with blood and river water, and torn revealing a long, jagged slash across his chest. Castiel leaned in to inspect it and saw that it ran viciously into the muscle, nearly deep enough to expose bone. 

He knelt beside the body, running his hand along the dark jeans that were plastered against the man’s legs and pulling back the panels of the sopping flannel button-down to check for further injury. There were cuts and scrapes everywhere but none as severe as the wound in his chest. Castiel wouldn’t be able to heal the body without its soul. He lifted the empty vessel, resting its back against one of his legs. The man’s stilled features were undeniably beautiful. The hard, square jawline and the long straight nose over full lips were picturesque, probably even more so when his skin held the color of life. 

Holding a hand over the man, Castiel tapped into the well of power that was his Grace. A wisp of bright, glowing blue became tangible in the air between them, growing and swirling as a soul, the soul of the man he held, was called to him. Castiel’s eyes flashed a brilliant, bright blue as he drew on more of his Heavenly power to guide the soul back into its vessel. It seeped slowly, restlessly into the open mouth of the body he held until it disappeared completely.

The man gasped suddenly for air, his eyelids flying up and rich, green eyes meeting Castiel’s for a moment before closing again. 

Suddenly hit by a wave of weakness, Castiel moved his legs so he could sit for a moment and catch his breath. Bringing someone back from the dead was difficult work, even for an angel. His Grace was depleted and he could only hope he had enough to tend the most severe of the injuries the man had.

He watched the shallow, uneven rise and fall of his soulmate’s chest as he breathed, his face contorted in pain even in his unconscious state. Once he caught his breath, Castiel was once again holding his hand above the man. This time over the chest wound. The flash of his eyes reflected on the pale skin of the man’s face as a bright, white light shone from Castiel’s palm. The bleeding of the laceration ceased and the muscle started stitching itself back together. The healing only lasted a moment before the light faded, Castiel’s Grace too exhausted for him to continue trying to heal him.

He couldn’t even hold back the weather anymore. The wind ripped at his clothes and the rain soaked him to the bone. 

Standing, Castiel lifted the man, cradling his now shivering body in his arms. As if the man felt the warmth radiating from the angel’s body, he leaned into Castiel’s chest, reaching up with one arm to weakly grasp a fistful of t-shirt. 

He’d had enough Grace to stop the bleeding and the man’s breathing had evened out a bit. That was the least of his worries now, Castiel realized. He had to get this man out of the elements. He was shivering, cold from the heavy rain and being soaked by the flowing river. With the amount of blood he’d lost, hypothermia could quickly become a problem, even in August.

There was nothing else to be done.

Holding the man tightly to his chest, Castiel beat his wings and carried them away from the beach to his home, where he could care for the man the old-fashioned way. 

As soon as they were inside, Castiel laid him down on the bed and carefully untied his boots to pull them off. He retrieved a pair of scissors from the kitchen and slowly, cautiously cut the sopping clothes from the man’s body, examining the freshly exposed skin as he went. As Castiel had thought when he found him, there were no other serious wounds but his skin was littered with scars. Some of them were fresh but many were years old, possibly even dating back to his childhood. Castiel wondered how a man that seemed so young could have so many but he pushed the question aside in favor of searching for a suture kit in his house. 

This wasn’t the first time he had to use human means of healing and he tried to always be prepared. He could only use magic so much in public. Even in 2005, people were wary of anything that could be deemed witchcraft.

Sighing, Castiel opened the kit and set himself about the tedious work of stitching up the laceration. He only hoped he had enough suture for a wound this severe.

* * *

Castiel startled awake when he heard the pained groan of his newly rescued companion. Opening his eyes, he watched silently as the man slowly lowered himself back to the bed. There was a healthy mixture of pain and panic in his eyes as they darted around the room.

“Where am I? Who are you?” the man asked frantically. Looking down at the sheet Castiel had covered him with after stitching him up, he turned slowly and met Castiel’s gaze with wide eyes. “Why am I naked?”

“My name is Castiel.” He thought that was, perhaps, the most important question to answer. “You are in my house.” Hesitating, Castiel thought it better not to tell Dean the whole truth yet. He was clearly already alarmed by the situation. Informing him that he had been dead only hours ago would only make it worse. “I found you severely injured nearby. The hospitals that still have power have been thoroughly overrun, so I brought you here. Your wound has been cleaned and stitched.”

The man--Castiel’s patient, as it were--tried to sit up again. “I appreciate that but I don’t know who the hell you are, so if you would kindly give me my clothes, I’ll be on my way.” Halfway up, he froze and his face contorted with pain as another moan escaped him.

Castiel reached over and firmly pushed him back down to the bed. “I would not advise trying to leave yet. You need to rest. You nearly drowned and I had to use all the suture thread in my kit to close that up.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m getting up yet. Great. Guess I’m stuck here with some strange dude who still hasn’t explained why I am naked.” The man was clearly talking to himself as he took in Castiel’s face. “At least you’re cute.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Castiel’s mouth. Soulmate or not, he was sure he’d like this man. “You’re naked because I had to cut away your clothes to make sure there were no other serious injuries that needed tending. Now, I have told you my name. If you are to stay in my home until you’re well, I’d like to know yours as well.”

“What? Aw, come on. That was my favorite shirt.” The man pouted like a child, wincing as he gingerly rolled onto his side. “This is such bullshit. It was just supposed to be a simple fucking job. How long am I gonna be laid up here for?”

“I don’t know. A few days. Perhaps longer if you can’t restrain yourself from being foolish.” 

“Goddammit.” The man grimaced but Castiel couldn’t tell if it was due to the pain of his condition or the situation. “M’name’s Dean. Okay?”

Castiel smiled in earnest and said, “Well, I’m sure nearly drowning in a hurricane-fueled flood wasn’t part of your plans but it is nice to meet you, Dean.” It was true. Castiel was happy to finally meet the person that was his human soulmate. If he was honest with himself, he wanted to tell Dean everything right then and there. But he wasn’t a fool. While he could, perhaps, get away with telling Dean that he already felt the bond forming between them, it would be best not to reveal his true nature until they knew each other a little better.

The benefit of his Grace having been drained by Dean’s revival was that Castiel would appear relatively human in his habits until it replenished itself. He’d already needed a night of sleep and now he could hear his stomach rumble. He was hungry.

“You got any food in this place?” Dean asked with a resigned sigh. “I could go for some pie.”

“I’ll see what I can manage.” Castiel made his way to the kitchen, peering into his refrigerator and wishing its shelves weren’t quite so bare. He had eggs, at least, and bread. He could turn that into a meal. He was putting a frying pan on the stove, thinking about how to broach the subject of soulmates with Dean when he heard  _ Shit! _ from the other room.

“Are you alright, Dean?” Castiel asked, nearly stumbling in his haste. He peered into the bedroom, expecting to see Dean had torn his stitches and was bleeding again. Instead, he was simply laying on his back, covering his face with both hands, and cursing profusely.

“My Baby,” Dean said, looking over at Castiel between his fingers. “I can’t believe I forgot about my Baby. I gotta go get her.”

Castiel tilted his head to one side, squinting and furrowing his brow in confusion. “You forgot your child?”

“What? No!” Dean struggled to sit up, pushing himself slowly up onto his elbows and then his hands with a tight-lipped grimace. “My car, man. I left her in the French Quarter when I went to go take care of th--” Dean hesitated, eyes widening as he caught his lower lip between his teeth. “--something. I gotta go get her.”

“I would not recommend that.” Castiel crossed the room, his bare feet hardly making a sound. “Much of the city has flooded. It would be unsafe if you were at your full strength. It’s just a car.” Castiel was certain he had never seen a man appear more offended in his very long life. 

“Baby is  _ not _ just a car, Cas,” Dean said. “She’s a 1967 Chevy Impala with a 327 and a four-barrel carburetor.  She’s beautiful and she was a gift from my dad. Who will murder me if I don’t bring her back.”

The way Dean brightened while he told Castiel--Cas, as he’d called him--about the car was captivating, though the angel certainly couldn’t say he understood any of it. It was clear that this Impala was extremely important to Dean. 

“Eat and rest. Tell me where you left your car and I will go get it.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dean rubbed his face with one hand, leaning on his elbow at the kitchen table. Since he had insisted that he would absolutely not lay in that damn bed all day, Castiel had been kind enough to help him up. And provide him with a pair of soft gray sweatpants so he wasn’t running around naked in some stranger’s house. 

The gorgeous, blue-eyed stranger had been nothing but kind to him. Something niggled at the back of Dean’s mind. Something that just wasn’t quite…  _ normal _ about the man.

For one, Dean hadn’t even put up a fight when Castiel offered to go rescue Baby from the hopefully unflooded streets of the French Quarter. He  _ never _ let anyone drive Baby. So what was it about this mystery guy that made Dean so… comfortable? 

He wanted to snoop around the little house but moving hurt like hell, so he opted to stay right where he was, at least for the time being. The kitchen was small and pristine, from the cheap table he sat at, to the electric kettle that sat on the countertop. The eggs Castiel had made before he left filled him up but there didn’t seem to be much else in the fridge. Mostly Dean was disappointed by the lack of beer.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the familiar tone of his cell phone ringing. Guess he was going to have to get up after all. He made his way gingerly in the direction of the ringing, finding the phone on a dresser in the bedroom. He was surprised the damn thing still worked, given the fact that it was in his pocket when he nearly drowned.

Reaching down to grab it, Dean flipped it open and answered the call. “This is Dean.”

_ “Dean? Hey!”  _ Sam said on the other end of the line. Dean pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it in disbelief. He hadn’t heard from his brother since he ran off to California for college.

“Sammy? What’s going on?”

“ _ Nothing, I just… uh… I wanted to check on you. Make sure you were okay. _ ” He could hear the worry in Sam’s expressive voice and it put him on edge.

“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine,” Dean replied, looking down at his expertly stitched chest. Why was Sam calling to check on him now, after all this time? “I got hurt on a hunt but a local saved my ass.”

_ “You got hurt? How bad? A local hunter?” _

“It’s fine, really. Not like I died or anything. Just some guy, Castiel. He found me and stitched me up. Gonna need a few days to recover but that’s all.” 

“ _ Oh. Okay. Well, good. I, uh, guess I’ll talk to you later, then.” _

“Yeah. Hey, Sammy?” Dean hesitated for a moment. As pissed as he’d been at Sam when he left, he couldn’t deny he missed his younger brother. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“ _ You, too, Dean.” _ There was a long moment of silence and Dean was considering ending the call when Sam spoke again. “ _ Keep in touch, okay. I miss you.” _

Ending the call, Dean stared at the cell phone for a moment before flipping it shut. He was still surprised that his brother had called him. Not just because it had been a while since they last spoke, but because Sam sounded worried, almost surprised that Dean had actually answered the call. They didn’t exactly part on the best of terms but he was more than happy that Sam still wanted to be a part of his life. He made a mental note to check in with the moose more often. 

There was nothing else to do now but wait for Castiel to return with Baby.

He was worried about her. If she’d been caught up in flood waters, Dean might actually cry. Flood damage was damn near impossible to fix. Stupid hurricane better not have left a scratch on the Impala. 

Besides his anxieties about the car, Dean still had to take care of that voodoo witch doctor before he could leave New Orleans. No way would he be lucky enough that the bastard was taken out by the storm. 

He wished he knew exactly what went down but the last thing he remembered was walking into the creepy old house in the French Quarter.

* * *

 

Dean was getting impatient. Castiel had been gone for hours, understandably since he had to walk, and Dean really had no idea how far they even were from Baby.  There was nothing to do and Dean was getting restless. Cas didn’t even own a TV. Normally Dean would have no problem grabbing a book off the shelf, but reading was far too much of a chore for Dean’s unfocused mind right then, and he was starting to get hungry again. 

The kitchen cabinets were bare, save for a few glass jars of unlabeled, dried herbs. What the hell was he supposed to do with that? If the flooding was as bad as Castiel said it was, how the hell were they going to get any food? 

Dean sighed, shutting the cabinet and walking back over to the empty kitchen table. Besides the pain in his chest, he could feel the beginnings of a migraine tingling in the back of his head. 

His head jerked up off the table when he heard the familiar rumble of his Baby pulling into the drive of Castiel’s house. Dean realized he must have fallen asleep while he waited. He shot out of the chair, immediately regretting the hasty movement, and then gingerly clutched his ribs as pain radiated through them. He shook his head, taking more care as he moved toward the door and stepped outside.

The ground was sopping wet, though the rain had stopped some time ago. Clouds still cramped the sky, filtering the brightness of the sunlight down to a dull, monotonous gray that made everything look somber. Dean, of course, observed the weather but was far more interested in his car. He turned his eyes to Baby as Castiel opened the driver’s side door and stepped out. Ignoring his savior, Dean walked around the car slowly, examining her carefully to see what kind of damage the storm had wrought. 

On the driver’s side there were a few scratches and small dings, likely caused by flying debris, but easy to fix. It was more of the same as he moved around to the back and the passenger side. When he saw the front fender, Dean groaned dramatically. It was bent in severely, the edges of the large dent crinkled under the pressure of whatever had hit it. “This better have already been like this when you found her.”

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said calmly and Dean’s heart skipped a beat. 

Dean’s hand flew instinctively to the words on the inside of his forearm and his eyes darted around, looking for any possible danger. No. He was not going to freak out. It was just a greeting. People said it all the time. They weren’t all his soulmates. He’d learned a long time ago that he couldn’t afford to freak out every time someone said the simple, innocuous phrase or he’d lose his mind. His life was crazy enough as it was.

Clearing his throat, Dean looked up at Castiel and asked, “It was already like this right?” His voice broke a little and he hoped like hell that the dude thought it was because he was nervous about the damage to his car.

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel sighed, rolling his eyes. “I removed a large tree limb that had fallen on the car before I drove it here.” 

Dean couldn’t help but be a little relieved and he watched as Castiel walked around to the passenger side of the car. Carefully avoiding Dean, he opened the door and reached in to pull out two paper bags full of groceries. Where the hell had he managed to get those in a flooded out city?

Almost as if he could read Dean’s thoughts, Castiel said, “I hope you don’t mind but I drove a couple of towns over to buy food. The stores here are all either flooded or otherwise closed.”

“Yeah, that was probably a good idea,” Dean said, unable to find it in himself to be angry that the man had driven his car elsewhere without asking first. Not when his stomach rumbled loudly at the sight of food. “Let me help you with those.” 

Dean reached out to take a bag but stopped when Castiel’s blue eyes fell on him, chastising him without so much as a word. Rather than argue that even with an injury he was capable of carrying a helluva lot more than one bag of groceries, Dean just followed Castiel inside. 

The man silently started putting food away, in cabinets and the fridge, and Dean realized suddenly that the houses around them didn’t have any lights on. If most of the city was flooded, then it stood to reason that the power would be out in a lot of places, more places than just those that were currently under water. How did Castiel’s house still have power?

Maybe he had a generator or something. Dean knew he probably shouldn’t be so paranoid. It was difficult to trust a stranger, though, when you knew first hand that people were not always what they appeared to be. But if Castiel intended him harm, he’d had ample opportunity to hurt or kill him. No, it wasn’t like he was a shifter or a witch or something. He was just a guy that was in the right place at the right time to save Dean’s ass.

At least that was what Dean would choose to believe for now.

When Castiel tossed him a bottle of Motrin, he took it gladly and dumped several of the little orange pills into his hand before putting them in his mouth and swallowing them dry while his savior rummaged in one of the bags. The man turned and offered Dean a bottle of water, which he took gratefully. The pills tasted awful. Dean washed away the flavor and instead watched Castiel move around the kitchen, preparing to cook a meal for them to share. 

Dean couldn’t deny the guy was attractive as hell. He was the literal embodiment of tall, dark, and handsome. He hummed a tune Dean didn’t recognize as he worked, and even through his shirt, Dean could see the muscles in his shoulders and back rippling as he reached up into the cabinet that contained the dried herbs.

“So, how bad was I when you found me?” Dean asked.

Castiel looked over his shoulder. “You were… not breathing.” 

“Wait, so you had to resuscitate me?” Castiel only nodded in response. “Damn, it’s too bad I was asleep for that kiss.”

“Kiss?” Castiel asked, turning toward him with his head tilted in confusion like a puppy. Yeah, the dude was hot and adorable, if a little clueless. There was no denying it. Maybe, if nothing else, Dean could at least get laid before he left Louisiana.

“Uh… mouth to mouth?” Dean laughed and shook his head, waving a dismissive hand. “Never mind.” Dean grimaced at the twinge of pain the motion sent through his chest and wondered how weird it would be if he went outside and dug his painkillers out of Baby’s trunk.

Pursing his lips, Castiel turned back to the cabinet and moved jars around until he pulled one out and carried it over to the table. He set it down in front of Dean and said, “For the laceration.”

Dean raised his eyebrows in disbelief, picking up the jar and looking through the glass. “What the hell is it?” He popped the metal tab up and opened it, holding it up to his nose. It smelled strongly of cinnamon and something Dean couldn’t identify beyond  _ green _ .

“It’s an herbal salve. It’s not really intended for the treatment of such a serious wound but it should help with the swelling and the pain.” 

Hesitating for a moment, Dean stared at Castiel. It looked like something he’d see on the shelf of one of those new-agey places that were, in his experience, almost always a cover for a more sinister occult shop. It wasn’t like he’d never used so-called natural remedies before. 

Shrugging, he dipped his fingers into the thick goop and spread it generously across the cut, being careful to avoid the stitches. To his surprise, the pain lessened almost immediately and Dean was able to relax a little as he watched Cas prepare a meal and angsted about the damage to Baby.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel did his best to ignore Dean’s fingertips tapping against the wood as he read. Looking from the corner of his eye, he saw Dean still reading his own novel--Castiel’s copy of  _ Cat’s Cradle _ . He seemed engrossed in the book, so it certainly wasn’t boredom that had his fingers moving across the surface of the table, or his leg bouncing noticeably beneath it. Apparently, the man just didn’t have the ability to sit still. That was what distracted Castiel. It most certainly was not the way Dean’s brow furrowed and he leaned forward when he read something he found particularly intriguing. Nor was it the way he wet the pad of his finger with his tongue every time he turned a page.

Dean smirked, eyes still on the book. “See something you like?”

Averting his eyes immediately, Castiel replied, “I was distracted by your incessant motion. Is the book boring you?” His heart skipped an inexplicable beat, and he felt the warmth in his cheeks as his skin tinged pink. 

“Not in the slightest.” Dean closed the book and set it down on the table with a smile. “It’s one of my favorites, actually.” He smiled when Castiel looked up at him, their eyes meeting across the empty space. The corners of his eyes crinkled just a little and Castiel’s chest tightened. It was not a feeling he was familiar with. 

“I spent most of my life on the road. I get a little restless when I’m stuck in one spot. What about you, Cas? Do you like Dick?” he asked with a wink.

Castiel smiled and closed the copy of  _ Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? _ “Yes, I think this novel has a very interesting take on the way technology redefines the way humanity views their own significance in the universe.” 

He wasn’t oblivious to the suggestive play on words; he simply chose to ignore it. It seemed a good choice to do so because, despite the way Dean’s smirk initially faded, they spent several hours in a deep discussion about the impact of the novel on American literature and science fiction in general that ended with a promise from Castiel that they would watch  _ Bladerunner _ together. Though he preferred books to television and movies, Castiel found himself very much looking forward to it. It had nothing at all to do with the warmth that blossomed in his chest at the way Dean’s eyes sparkled when he talked about it.

* * *

A distressed sound in the other room roused Castiel from his light slumber and he rolled off the couch to check on Dean. The moonlight shining through the window bathed the man in its pale glow, and Castiel could see beads of sweat forming at his hairline. Dean’s brow knitted itself together and he moved restlessly, mumbling something in his sleep. He was having a nightmare. It wouldn’t take much of his Grace to calm him, so Castiel reached toward his forehead with two fingers and then hesitated for a moment.

Perhaps he should see what the nightmare was about. This man was his soulmate and despite having only known him for three days--two really--Dean made Castiel feel things he wasn’t sure he truly understood. The disquiet of Dean’s features bothered him deeply, and it would be a gross invasion of privacy--not to mention a breach of whatever tenuous trust they had--for Castiel to look in on his dreams without consent. In the end, he touched his fingers to the sleeping man’s forehead, and tension Castiel hadn’t realized he was carrying in his chest released as Dean’s face relaxed in his now peaceful slumber.

No longer tired, Castiel leaned back against the wall by the door to his bedroom. He unconsciously dragged a finger across the skin on the inside of his right elbow. A new phrase appeared there almost immediately after he rescued Dean. It was short and simple this time:  **_Sam no_ ** . Castiel wondered who Sam was. More than that, he hoped he would find out. He wanted to know everything he could about Dean, even if it might bring him pain in the future.

Dean wasn’t exactly an open book. And the fact that he was Castiel’s soulmate did not necessarily mean that Castiel was his. He knew very well he was an unprecedented anomaly, and while normally soulmates were reciprocal, it was always a possibility the usual rules would not apply to him. But he hoped.

* * *

 

Dean was not, apparently, a morning person. Castiel was already sitting at the table in the kitchen when Dean stumbled out of the bedroom, grumbling under his breath about coffee. His voice was thick with sleep, his green eyes dark under heavy lids, and the way he pouted was very endearing. 

Castiel couldn’t help the small smile behind his mug of tea as he watched Dean move slowly around the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee.

Even in this half-asleep state, Dean was lovely by any standard of the word. Over the years, Castiel had seen many aesthetically pleasing men and women, but this was different. Certainly, Dean was handsome. But his beauty ran straight to his soul. Castiel saw it, up close and personal when he revived Dean. Even now, the flesh of his mortal vessel couldn’t contain the brightness and purity of the light that was his soul. That alone made Dean the most gorgeous man he’d ever met.

The fact that even in his grumpy morning mood, Dean still smiled at Castiel as he sat in the chair across from him with his coffee was, as they say, icing on the cake. The domesticity of it was oddly comfortable and when their eyes met, a warm tingle settled over Castiel. He found himself fighting the urge to reach across and lace his fingers with Dean’s, and just let their hands rest together on the table. Wrapping both hands around his mug instead, Castiel sipped at it quietly and smiled back at Dean.

“How is your chest feeling?” Castiel asked, looking at the part of the laceration he could see in the space between Dean’s forearms.

Dean looked down at himself. “Better. That stuff you gave me to put on it really helped, actually.” 

He sounded genuinely surprised and pleased, but he clearly wasn’t much of a talker before his first cup of coffee.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel no longer needed to sleep, though he still pretended until Dean fell into his own slumber to keep up appearances. Once Dean’s eyes were closed for the night and his breathing steady, save for the occasional soft snore, Castiel got off the couch and went about covertly examining the stitched-up wound. He had to step around a black duffel bag Dean had brought in from his car to ensure that he made no noise. Fortunately, Dean preferred sleeping without a shirt, so Castiel was able to lean in and peer at his bare chest.

The stitches were holding fine, but the wound itself was not healing as quickly as Castiel would have liked. While his Grace had replenished enough for him not to need rest, it wasn’t enough for him to properly heal Dean yet. The angel wasn’t certain that would have been a good idea anyway. He had yet to figure out how to broach the subject of his inhumanity and surprising his new companion like that wouldn’t end well. He could, however, use some of the human magic he’d picked up over the centuries to at least speed the healing process.

Castiel quietly made his way to the kitchen, gathering several healing herbs and retrieving a white, hand-sewn doll from one of the drawers. He spread his white altar cloth across one end of the rickety table. Then he set up two white beeswax pillar candles that he’d made himself. They were laced with wormwood and sage, specifically crafted for healing rituals such as the one Castiel was about to perform. He chanted under his breath as he lit them, calling upon Loco and Ghedes as he attached a small swatch of the bloodied fabric from the shirt Dean had been wearing when Castiel found him. He took a deep breath and held the doll up to his face, blowing his breath across its face and saying Dean’s name three times.

Laying the doll down on the white cloth, Castiel watched as its shape morphed, taking on the likeness of his patient. He chanted a soft Enochian spell, tracing a line across the chest of the doll with his finger. A perfect replica of Dean’s wound appeared and Castiel was so intent on his spell that although he heard the creaking of the wooden floorboard, his mind didn’t process it for what it was. He did, however, register the sound of the hammer of a semi-automatic pistol clicking back into place.

“What are you doing, Cas?” Dean asked, not a trace of sleep in his voice.

The angel stopped and looked up at him over the table. Dean stood there, still shirtless, holding his gun--Castiel had to admit it was a beautiful, well-crafted, if useless, weapon--straight out in front of him and pointed directly at the angel’s heart. “I’m just trying to help.”

“With all this voodoo crap?” Dean glanced down at the table, keeping his strong, firm stance and watching Castiel through narrowed eyes. 

If Castiel were anything less than what he was, it would probably have been terrifying. In the short time they’d known each other, Castiel had never seen this rigid stiffness in Dean’s expression. His brows drawn close together, lips turned down in an angry frown, and eyes glittering with hard determination in the flickering candlelight.

Castiel lifted his hands in front of him, in the hopes the gesture would placate Dean. “It’s just a healing spell,” he said calmly. “The laceration isn’t healing as quickly as I would like it to and I simply thought I would help speed your recovery.”

“So, you’re a witch? Got some kind of demon deal going on?”

“No, Dean.” Castiel moved around the corner of the table. Apparently, it was time for the truth to come out.

Before he got his chance at explaining anything, the bang of the pistol being fired echoed through the small kitchen. The bullet ripped painfully through skin and muscle and embedded itself barely centimeters away from Castiel’s heart. He groaned at the pain that would have been little more than an irritating sensation had he been at full power and staggered back a couple of steps, watching as blood started streaming from the fresh hole in his chest. Slumping back against the countertop, he concentrated what little Grace he had on pushing the lump of metal back out the way it had entered. The process was slower and much more painful than it should have been, but it worked and he caught the projectile in his hand. 

Holding the bullet  up between his thumb and forefinger he looked across the room into Dean’s astonished face and said, “I’m an  _ angel _ , you ass.”

It would appear Castiel had rendered the human--hunter, apparently--speechless. The gun lowered to his side and Dean simply stood there, staring at the little ball of lead in the angel’s hand. “How…” Dean’s voice trailed off like he didn’t know what to ask.

“Witch killing bullets kill witches, and most humans, I would imagine,” Castiel explained, grunting again as he pressed a finger to his own wound. “As I am neither, they don’t work on me.”

“No, no, no, no,” Dean said, shaking his head and gesturing pointedly with his gun. “Angels aren’t real. Because that would mean that God is real. And he clearly is not. Have you looked at the world?”

“Only since the beginning of time,” Castiel deadpanned. “God is real. He is simply… absent, at the moment.”

“Oh, okay. So, he’s just a deadbeat, then.” Dean sat heavily in the chair closest to him. It was clear that he was having trouble wrapping his head around the whole idea, but Castiel was unsure as to how he could assist. “Wait, if you’re an angel, couldn’t you just, like, I don’t know, heal me with Heavenly power or some shit?”

“Under normal circumstances, yes. However, my Grace was significantly drained when I…” Castiel wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell Dean this. Not yet. There would be questions that he wasn’t sure he was prepared to answer. It was unclear how Dean would react to being told he was dead. And despite his own growing feelings, Castiel had no idea whether they were reciprocated at all. If Dean took the news badly, he might lose his chance to find out.

“When you what?” Dean must have sensed his hesitation because his tone and his eyes were demanding.

Castiel reached for a dishtowel to press to his wound because while it wouldn’t kill him, the blood loss would weaken him. He needed his wits about him if he was going to tell Dean what really happened. Still, he hesitated, searching Dean’s face for some indication of how this news might affect him.

Even after all the time Castiel had spent among humanity, he still wasn’t very good at reading them. Especially when they were making an effort to hide their emotions. He may as well just say it, he supposed. “You were dead when I found you. I depleted my Grace bringing you back.”

Dean’s expression was caught curiously somewhere between shock and confusion. “Wait, I was dead? Like dead dead?”

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel rolled his eyes in annoyance. He was sure he hadn’t been unclear. “Your soul was departed from your flesh.”

“And you brought me back?” Dean’s brow furrowed and his nose scrunched as he rubbed his eyes and then ran his hand through his hair. Shaking his head, he said, “No, you’re yankin’ my chain.”

Castiel sighed. “No, I’m not. You asked what happened and I told you. If you dislike the truth, I hardly think that is my problem.”

Dean looked up at him, eyes disbelieving. “If you’re an angel, prove it.”

It was a lot of information to process; Castiel knew that. But he felt an unexpected pain at the way Dean’s eyes looked on him with only distrust. Castiel watched Dean for a moment longer, saw his fingers tighten a little around the gun still held in the hand dangling between his knees. Closing his eyes, Castiel stood, straight and tall, and with his mind reached for the place inside himself that connected him to heaven. When he opened his eyes, he knew they shone bright blue and the light of his essence glowed through the skin of his vessel. 

Dean’s eyes were wide as he set the gun carefully on the table and stared. Though Castiel couldn’t see it himself, he knew the shadow of his outstretched wings rested on the wall behind him. After a long moment of Dean’s gaze taking in the minuscule shadow of his true form, Castiel let the light fade and rested against the counter again. 

“So… I died,” Dean said slowly like the words were unfamiliar.” You brought me back and stitched me up, and now you’re trying to heal me with some voodoo spell. And I shot you.” His head jerked up and he jumped out of the chair. “Holy shit, Cas, I shot you.”

Castiel raised a hand, trying to allay at least some of the concern in Dean’s eyes as he crossed the room. It hurt but wouldn’t kill him. “It’s fine, really. I understand. You’re certainly not the first hunter I’ve ever crossed paths with.”

“I don’t think that’s really the point.” Dean took the dishcloth from Castiel’s hand, pulling it back to examine the hole in his chest. Grimacing, he asked, “Can you do some kind of angel mojo to heal this?” 

Castiel just shook his head in response. 

Dean smiled apologetically. “Well, I guess it’s my turn to fix you up, Angel. Don’t think you’re off the hook, though. I definitely have questions. So many questions.”

“My first aid kit is lacking. I used almost all of my supplies to clean and close your wound.”

“It’s fine. I’ve got a kit in Baby. You keep pressure on that while I go get it.” 

Castiel sighed heavily as Dean left to go out to the car. This was not going at all the way he wanted it to. It was going poorly enough, in fact, that perhaps he should be banned from making plans for the rest of eternity. Clearly, it wasn’t his strong suit. He pushed up off the counter, determined to at least finish the healing spell for Dean.


	6. Chapter 6

Bracing himself against Baby’s rear bumper, Dean forced himself to take several deep, calming breaths. Castiel had just dumped a shit pile of information on him, and he didn’t even know where to begin processing. He died. As Cas said, Dean’s soul had departed from his flesh. 

What the actual fuck?

He laughed suddenly, a little hysterically, remembering his conversation with Sam. There were so many questions Dean needed to ask Cas. His brain was short-circuiting at the moment, though, and he couldn’t latch on to a single damn one. 

The door swung open behind him, and he turned to see Cas coming out.

“I need to bury the doll to complete the spell,” he explained, walking a few yards away and crouching to dig a hole. 

Dean popped the trunk and reached in, grabbing the first aid kit and some holy water--just in case. He still wasn’t sure he believed the angel story, and witch killing bullets didn’t kill demons, either. Castiel was already walking back toward the house when Dean gently closed the trunk and turned to follow.

“Sit,” Dean ordered as he entered the kitchen, pointing at the closest chair. Castiel raised an eyebrow but complied. “Take off your shirt.” 

Dean pulled the other chair over and sat in front of Cas, leaning forward to examine the wound and ignoring the warmth of Cas’s thigh against his knee. His mind raced as he unscrewed the cap on the little bottle of holy water and poured it over the wound. And got no reaction at all beyond another raised eyebrow.

“I sincerely doubt holy water is enough to sanitize the wound, Dean,” Castiel quipped.

Dean rolled his eyes. “I had to be sure, okay?” Silently, he pulled alcohol from the first aid kit instead, ignoring the barest wince from Castiel as he methodically cleaned the wound. He tried to organize his thoughts while he worked, but it was nearly impossible. There were so many things he wanted to know. His mind kept circling back to one thing. Dean was a simple man--a nobody, really--who had never done much good beyond ganking monsters. “Why did you save me?”

Cas’s head tilted to one side and he looked genuinely confused by the question. “I heard your prayer.” He hesitated and Dean immediately knew there was something more that Castiel wasn’t telling him. “Why wouldn’t I save you?”

“My prayer?” Dean asked, then shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m no one special and there must have been other people more worthy than me.” 

He reached into the first aid kit again, pulling out a needle and some dental floss so he could stitch Cas up. He was unprepared for Cas’s firm hand catching him by the chin and forcing him to look into those earnest blue eyes.

“You deserve to be saved, Dean,” he said seriously. He held Dean there for another moment before releasing him.

Dean cleared his throat and swallowed the emotion that had started building there. He deserved many things, but he wasn’t sure this whole ‘touched by an angel’ thing was on the list. 

“If you say so,” he muttered. “So, if you’re an angel, what the hell are you doing in Louisiana?”

Castiel spoke slowly, grimacing a little as Dean pulled the needle through skin. “When Lucifer fell, things in Heaven… changed, and not for the better. So, I suppose I am in Louisiana to avoid my family.”

“When Lucifer fell--this has got to be the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had,” Dean muttered to himself. It was certainly saying something; he was a hunter. His whole life was one weird conversation after another. “How do you hide from Heaven?” 

The stitching part was done now and Dean put a large, square bandage over the whole mess. As Dean leaned back, Cas reached for the shirt he’d dropped unceremoniously on the floor. Dean pretended he wasn’t staring at the stretch of skin and muscle across his exposed ribs. How was he supposed to think clearly when Cas was so hot all the time?

“It’s surprisingly easy, actually,” Cas answered as he pulled the shirt on. “A very simple Enochian spell etched into the ribs of my vessel. It makes my presence virtually undetectable by angels as long as I don’t push my luck too much.”

Neither of them spoke for a while after that. Now that Dean was done with Cas’s gunshot wound, he didn’t have anything external to concentrate on that would clear his mind enough to actually figure out where the hell to go from here. Cas wasn’t any help about it, either. He simply sat: quiet, serene, and those damn piercing blue eyes that Dean was pretty sure could see all the way into his soul  _ before _ he found out the dude was an angel. The tension built awkwardly between them as Dean tried to look anywhere in the room but Cas’s face, and Cas bored extra holes into Dean’s skull with his stare.

“Dean, I know this is all ver--”

“Listen, Cas, I need t--”

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, and looked out the window. It was still dark outside, but he could see the first signs of the sky lightening with the sunrise. There were still things he wanted to know. He looked back to Cas; the angel’s face was almost completely impassive, but his eyes were locked intently on Dean’s face. He could see that Cas was worried, still in pain, and… something else Dean wasn’t sure he recognized.

Rather than explore that, or the confused bundle of emotions rolling around his own chest, Dean did what he did best. He deflected. “I’m starving. You want some breakfast?” He didn’t even know if angels actually needed to eat. Hell, he didn’t know anything about angels at all.

“I would very much like to eat. It will help renew my Grace faster,” Cas said with a nod. He opened his mouth as if to say something more, but his brow furrowed and he seemed to think better of it.

Dean stood, walked over to the counter, and let out a shaky breath as he started rifling through the cabinets. “What’s your favorite food?” he asked, trying to keep the heavy tension from falling over the room again. Even with the groceries Cas brought back with Baby, there wasn’t much to choose from, and Dean needed something a little more substantial than eggs. He pulled a box of noodles out of one of the cabinets and stared at it for a moment. Would spaghetti for breakfast be weird? Shrugging, he set the box on the counter and looked for sauce to go with it.

“I’ve never thought about it,” Cas replied, and Dean looked over his shoulder to see the angel hadn’t moved. He sat almost completely still in the chair. “I generally don’t require food. I enjoy tea, but other than that, I only eat when my Grace has been depleted.”

Dean nodded and turned back to the jar of very store-bought, probably very bland, spaghetti sauce. He could work with it. In fact, the more work it required, the better. It gave him something to focus on. He turned to search for a pot, and when he found one, he picked up a gallon jug of water and filled it. Dean hummed to himself as he set it on the stove and turned the burner on.

“I assume you were in the area to kill something,” Cas said. Wow, he just jumped right in with both feet.

Dean wasn’t sure how much he was willing to share, even if Cas did know a thing or two about hunters. “I was on a case.” He chose not to elaborate as he fished out another pan and unceremoniously dumped the sauce into it. “Hey, some of the stuff in this cabinet is for cooking right?”

Cas didn’t respond, but a moment later, Dean felt the angel’s familiar presence beside him. He glanced over, and Cas was reaching up into the open cabinet, pulling out several jars of dried spices and setting them on the counter. Dean dipped a fingertip into the pan and tasted the sauce. Without waiting for Cas to tell him what was in the unlabeled containers, Dean started opening and sniffing at them to identify their contents. After quickly adding a few things, he stirred the pot with a wooden spoon and then tasted it. 

Submerging the spoon a second time, he turned to Cas, who was leaning against the counter next to him, he cupped his hand underneath it and held it out toward the angel. “Here, taste this.”

It was damn near entrancing the way Cas dipped his head and closed his lips around the tip of the spoon. Despite the things he’d learned that night, Dean had a difficult time not wondering if Cas’s lips were as soft as they looked. Or how Cas’s shadow of stubble would feel against his skin if the angel kissed his neck. 

“Dean?” Cas’s voice broke his tangent of a daydream and Dean realized that not only was he caught staring, but he also missed whatever Cas said.

“What?” he asked, feeling the warm heat of a blush color his cheeks. 

Cas looked entirely unsure of himself when he spoke. “I said there is too much oregano.”

Dean’s brow crinkled in confusion. “I didn’t put any oregano in it, Cas.”

“Oh.” Cas cleared his throat and sighed. “Truthfully, it just takes like… molecules. Angels experience sensory input differently than humans.” 

“That sounds awful,” Dean breathed, slowly setting the spoon down on the counter and definitely  _ not _ staring again. No, he was definitely not captivated by Cas sheepishly rolling his lower lip between his teeth. And Dean was most certainly not thinking about kissing the guy he just found out wasn’t even human. 

“There are times I wish I knew what it was like to experience some things as humans do.” Cas smiled, and his eyes were wistful. “But being a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent does have its advantages, I suppose.”


	7. Chapter 7

Only a few hours had passed since Castiel completed the healing spell, but Dean’s wound was already improving significantly. Dean even admitted, if grudgingly, that the pain had lessened. They had spent the time eating and not talking. Dean, it appeared, either had no interest in speaking about what had transpired, or he wasn’t ready to discuss it yet. Castiel wasn’t sure which. There was a moment, when Dean wanted Castiel to taste what he was cooking, that Castiel had desperately wanted to reveal his affection for Dean. Instead, he’d made a ridiculous comment about spices that he couldn’t taste anyway.

It was unlike him to be so foolish.

Castiel sat outside with the sun beating down on him, the August heat back in its full force, though the ground was still sopping. In another week, when his Grace had recharged fully, the hot, humid air wouldn’t bother Castiel. 

Today, however, his hair was slick with the sweat that seemed to cover him. It beaded at the edges of his hairline, dripped from the tip of his nose, even seemed to collect in the soft hollows just above his collar bones. It wasn’t the first time Castiel ever experienced discomfort due to the weather, but he never got used to it. He watched as Dean started to repair the damage to his car.

They didn’t talk much. Castiel felt as though something between them had changed, but he wasn’t sure what, or how to make things go back to the way they were before Dean knew his true nature. 

Though Castiel knew almost nothing about cars in general, or how to repair them in particular, it became clear very quickly that Dean did. It was fascinating to listen to the way Dean spoke to the car, complaining and cajoling it as though it would hear his words and suddenly cooperate.

Dean lay on a piece of cardboard Castiel had managed to find in the house, his head and shoulders under the front of the Impala. The black tee shirt he wore rode up just enough to expose soft flesh just above the waistband of his jeans. In the limited space, Dean swung a mallet, banging at the inside of the dent and trying to bend it back into its original shape.

“Come on, you son of a bitch,” he breathed between blows. 

Castiel couldn’t see his face, but he could imagine Dean’s jaw clenching and his brows drawing together as he gritted his teeth in concentration. Castiel could imagine the way Dean’s muscles bunched and released with each swing of the mallet. The whole mental picture made him smile, though he still wondered how Dean was coping with everything he’d learned.

The man was silently adamant about avoiding any conversation related to his emotions. Perhaps beating against his car with a hammer was the best way for Dean to process things. Which was fine, Castiel supposed, as he had no idea how to even broach the subject. At this point, it was a positive that Dean had neither attempted to kill Castiel again nor attempted to leave.

“Dean?” Castiel called out, waiting for him to stop swinging the mallet before continuing. “Tomorrow I would very much like to volunteer my time to one of the charities assisting people in surviving the aftermath of the hurricane.” He hesitated for a moment. Castiel was already emotionally attached to Dean, and even for something so small as this, he braced himself for the possibility of rejection. “I would also very much enjoy your company while I do so.”

Dean looked at him from his spot under the car, staring for a moment. “Yeah, okay. I’ll drive us. Be nice to get back behind the wheel of my Baby.”

* * *

 

Dean didn’t realize how devastating Hurricane Katrina was until he drove Cas to the nearest place the Red Cross set up at. It was awful. Most of New Orleans was still underwater, thousands of people displaced from their homes, and the line of people in search of assistance wrapped around the block from the Red Cross truck. The two of them had been separated immediately upon checking in with Joan, the woman running the show. Dean was more than a little disappointed when some rando ended up at the station between him and Cas but comforted himself with the glimpses he caught of Cas out of the corner of his eye.

They were giving out all manner of supplies: food, clothes, laundry detergent, blankets, and pretty much anything else that was donated for the drive. It was a somber affair, many of the less fortunate people that lined up were still in shock. Dean couldn’t say he blamed them. A radio behind him spit out the news, talking about the wind damage and flooding. There were blockades on most of the main roads in and out of New Orleans, put up in an attempt to protect the city from people who had no business being there.

There were individuals, couples, and families in line, some with small children. All of these people were not only expelled from their homes but were now barred from returning to them, at least until the blockades were over. Dean was no stranger to tragedy but it was still hard to watch them trudge through the line, some with completely blank faces, others with tears in their eyes and on their cheeks, and yet others who smiled in the face of adversity. He did his best not to let the sorrow he felt for them show on his face.

The line was unending and Dean handed over bag after bag of food, trying not to wonder where these families were going to get their next meal from. It went on like that for a couple of hours with only the occasional glimpse of the warm smile Cas managed to give every single person that passed by. The angel was giving out blankets, and the occasional toy to the mothers and fathers who came through with small children. Even in the bleakness of the situation, Cas managed to make them smile, if only for a moment. 

Dean felt a bloom of warmth blossom in his chest as he watched Cas very seriously press a stuffed cat into the hands of a crying little boy. Dean couldn’t hear it, but Cas said something to the kid that made him laugh and hold the new toy tightly. Dean stopped looking when Joan tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, why don’t you take a break?” she suggested sympathetically.

Dean nodded and when he took a step back, another volunteer immediately filled his place. Several of the workers that had been there since early that morning were stepping away from the supplies, including Cas, who fell into step just behind Dean as they all walked out past the end of the Red Cross truck.

Most of the people that had already received their supplies still lingered, sitting against vehicles and the surrounding buildings. They didn’t have anywhere else to go. Dean made his way through the throng to sit with his back against the Impala, which wasn’t parked too far away, and Cas settled onto the ground beside him.

“These people have lost everything,” Dean said softly as his eyes traveled across the faces of the downtrodden. His hands fisting at his sides and pressing painfully into the ground were the only displays of frustration he allowed. “And all we can offer them is blankets and maybe a day’s worth of food. It’s not enough.”

Cas’s arm brushed against Dean’s, and the touch was comforting. “That’s not what we’re offering here, Dean. Not really.”

Dean looked over at him, meeting the deep blue oceans of Cas’s eyes to see his own empathy reflected there. “Then what are we giving them? Because they’re just going to need more of this stuff tomorrow, and donations aren’t going to last forever.”

“Hope,” Cas replied simply and with a small smile. “And that is far more important than anything else we could share. Without it, these supplies would be meaningless.”

Dean turned to examine the faces in the crowd. They didn’t look like what he would call hopeful. Most had downturned lips and worry lines across their foreheads. But his eyes fell on a little girl sitting in her mother’s lap. She couldn’t be more than five years old, and she clutched a stuffed bumblebee. She was smiling and holding tightly to her mother and the little toy, and for a moment Dean thought that maybe Cas was right. 

His own life often seemed as bleak as it could get, but Dean always held out hope that one day things would get better. Dad would find the yellow-eyed bastard that killed Mom. Sam would graduate from law school and maybe start a family. Dean would meet his soul mate and find some happiness of his own. Absentmindedly, he ran his finger across the inside of his forearm and looked back over at Cas. “Why do you care so much?”

“Humanity is… flawed,” Cas replied, turning his gaze away from Dean. “They lie, cheat, and steal. Kill each other. Make war over the smallest things.” He shook his head and Dean wondered if he was going to have something good to say. “But humans are strong in ways that angels are not. You’re survivors.” He gestured toward the crowd. “Even in the darkest moments, humanity finds a way to persevere, and find love and happiness. It’s beautiful because of the flaws, not in spite of them.”

When Cas turned back toward him, Dean found himself fighting the same urge he’d felt that morning. He wanted to lean in and press their lips together softly as he wrapped his arms around Cas and pulled him in close. Dean wanted to feel Cas’s skin against his own, let his fingers drift all over Cas’s body. But his desire felt different. It wasn’t just about sex; there was something more behind it that Dean chose not to examine too closely right that moment.

“Flè pou moun ki mouri yo?” a woman’s voice asked, interrupting Dean’s reverie. 

Looking up, he saw a young woman standing in front of Cas. She was tall and pale, with fiery red hair that hung loosely to her waist. She wore a purple sundress and held a small bouquet of flowers out to Cas. “What did she say?”

Cas’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and he replied, “She is offering flowers for the dead.” He reached up and took the flowers, digging in his pocket to offer the woman a five dollar bill. She took it with a smile and moved on without speaking again. Cas looked shaken as he examined the blooms.

“You okay?” Dean asked, looking at the flowers. There was a white lily and a purple rose, so dark it was nearly black, and they were surrounded by smaller light purple blooms that Dean didn’t recognize.  

“Yes, I’m fine.” Cas stood, still holding the flowers in his hand and looked over at Dean, his face impassive again. “We should get back to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flè pou moun ki mouri yo?<\--- so, according to the interwebs, this is Haitian Creole and it means "Flowers for the dead?"
> 
> It's entirely possible that it isn't a completely accurate translation, but I don't actually know anyone that speaks Haitian Creole so online translators were kind of the only option I had lol


	8. Chapter 8

By the time they were in the car and on their way back to Cas's house, the setting sun was casting violet and orange light over everything. Dean was too starving and exhausted to ask why Cas kept the bouquet. Instead, Dean turned up the radio and let _Stairway to Heaven_ fill Baby's cabin as he drove. Cas--not that Dean was sneaking covert glances at him for the entire ride or anything--turned the flowers over and over in his hands as he stared at them with the same intense concentration he'd directed at Dean when he first woke up.

“Hey, how’d you really get those groceries, Cas?” Dean asked, turning the radio down as the last strains of the song played. He knew everything about his car, including how many miles were on it. Between that and the barricades he now knew had been put up around the city, Dean knew there was no way Cas had driven Baby to another town to go shopping.

Cas looked over at him and smiled. “I flew to a state that was unaffected by the storm.”

Of course, he flew. Dean had seen the shadow of his wings the night he found out his savior’s true nature. He shuddered at the thought; he hated flying in a plane and certainly couldn’t imagine doing it without the comparative safety of a tin can around him. “What else can you do? I mean, besides fly and bring people back from the dead?”

“When my Grace is at full power, I can do many things. Heal people, smite beings of all sorts, even travel through time. Though even at my highest capacity, that takes some work.” Cas paused and Dean let his eyes drift from the road to the angel’s face.

The way the light from the sunset played over Cas’s features made him look ethereal, almost alien, in his beauty. The shadows made his nose look a little straighter, sharper than it was in full daylight, and his lips fuller. Only the bright, deep blue of his eyes seemed untouched by the growing darkness and Dean found it nearly impossible to tear his gaze away to concentrate on the road.

“There are other things I can do, as well, though I am not very powerful when compared to the Seraphs or Archangels,” Cas finished as Dean pulled Baby into the driveway of his home.

“Are all angels as good looking as you?” Dean asked with a flirtatious grin. He found the more he learned about Cas, the less he cared the man wasn’t human. 

Cas just looked at him, gesturing toward his own body and said, “This is just a vessel. In my true form, I am about as tall as the Chrysler building.” He opened the door and stepped out of the car, and Dean followed suit, feeling a sudden surge of discomfort at the idea that Cas was riding around in some unknown human’s body.

Dean shut the door and looked over Baby’s roof at the angel, brows furrowed in confusion and anger. “Wait, so you’re just possessing some poor bastard?”

Cas shook his head. “Not exactly. Not in the way that demons do, anyway. Angels require permission. Jimmy was a very devout man; he actually prayed for this. If and when I choose to leave this vessel and seek out a new one, he will be left entirely intact.”

Dean stared at Cas for a long moment. It was hard to reconcile that this angel, whose intense care for humanity he had witnessed all day, was borrowing the body of a man, no matter how devout Jimmy had been. But if angels required permission, it couldn’t be that bad, right? He pushed it to the back of his mind and followed Cas into the house.

“So, what’s it like?” Dean sat down at the table, watching as Cas set about filling an empty jar with water to use as a vase for the flowers he’d brought home with them. “Heaven, I mean.”

“Complicated,” Cas replied. Turning to face Dean, he set the jar containing the bouquet down on the counter, out of the way. “The Host has a very… rigid view of the way things should be. Anything or anyone that does not fit into that view is cast away. But it’s also a beautiful place. I don’t think I could describe it in a way that would do it justice.”

Dean saw the shadow of sadness that crossed Cas’s features, and his chest tightened for a moment. Even though he was curious about the reaction, Dean didn’t want Cas to be sad, so he searched for some way to change the subject as he got up and crossed the room to turn on the electric kettle. “If everything tastes like molecules, why do you drink tea?”

“I like it. Other than water, it’s the only thing I’ve come across that I can say I _almost_ enjoy the taste.”

Dean nodded to himself. There must be something he could make for Cas to eat that he would be able to enjoy in the same way. Tea was simple, relatively flavorless on its own. Maybe that had something to do with it. Maybe the less stuff was in it, the less it tasted like molecules. “You want pancakes for dinner, Cas?”

“Whatever you want to eat is fine, Dean.” Their eyes met and the corner of Cas’s mouth twitched up into a crooked smile. “I very much enjoyed watching you cook before. Perhaps this time I could help?”

Dean’s heart skipped in his chest; Cas would be sharing his personal space if they cooked together. There would be no avoiding the rush Dean felt when they touched accidentally; no pretending he didn’t already feel something more than lust. “Yeah, of course. We’re gonna need some supplies though.”

“Make me a list,” Cas said.

Dean made the short list and gave it to the angel. With a whoosh and a small gust of wind, Cas disappeared, leaving Dean gaping into the empty room. After a moment of staring into the vacant space in front of him, Dean recovered and decided he could take the moment to check in with Sam. 

Pulling his cell out of his pocket, Dean dialed Sam’s number. 

_“Hey Dean,”_ Sam answered. _“Everything okay?”_

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Better than I thought it would be, actually.” Dean smiled, fingering the soft petals of the dark-colored rose in the jar on the counter and thinking of the way Cas smiled at small children. “How’s school going?”

“ _Y_ _ou’re asking me about school?”_ Sam asked, disbelief clear in his tone.

Dean was almost offended, but it was a fair question. He’d never expressed any interest in Sam’s non-hunting life. “Yeah. I just, uh… I want us to be closer again is all. And I do actually want to know how your life is going.”

Sam chuckled on the other end of the line. “ _The summer semester will be over soon. I’m waiting to find out how I did on my LSATs and hoping that I’ll get into law school. I have an internship lined up for the fall, too.”_

“I got no idea what an LSAT is, but I’m sure you did great. You’re the smartest person I know.” Dean felt pride swelling in his chest. No matter how things had gone between them when Sam took off, Dean would never stop being proud of his baby brother’s accomplishments.

_“Yeah. Thanks, Dean.”_ There was a long pause. The Winchester clan was not the greatest at talking about their feelings. “ _So, what are you up to? Off on your next hunt?”_

“Not yet. I’m still staying with Cas while I heal up.”

“ _Cas? Is that the guy that patched you up?”_

“Yeah, he really saved my ass.” Dean smiled again. Thinking about Cas filled him with warmth in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time, but he didn’t think it was a good idea to tell Sam that Cas wasn’t human. Once a hunter, always a hunter. “He’s something else.”

“ _You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?_ ” Sam asked, and Dean could almost hear him rolling his eyes.

“Actually, I’m not.” Dean hesitated, sighing. Maybe he wasn’t going to tell Sammy that Cas was an angel, but he could tell him something. “I think there might be something there.”

Sam scoffed. _“Dean, are you trying to tell me you have feelings for this guy? You’ve been there less than two weeks.”_

“I know, but… I think I l--” Dean cut himself off. Had he really been about to tell Sam he  _loved_ Cas? “I like him. A lot.”

“ _What are you twelve?”_ Sam’s voice took on a slightly mocking tone. “ _I think I like like him._ ” He laughed but sounded more serious when he spoke again. “ _You think he might be your soulmate?_ ”

“What? No. Don’t say that. Shut up, bitch.”

_“Whatever, jerk. Just… be careful, okay? I’ll talk to you soon.”_

Dean had no sooner hung up the phone and shoved it back into his pocket than Cas reappeared in the kitchen, holding a bag full of groceries Dean had requested.  It wasn’t much, just milk, a box of store-brand pancake mix, and bacon. He smiled at Cas and asked, “Hey, do you have a radio or something. I usually listen to music while I’m cooking.”

“I do not,” Cas replied, shaking his head and standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen. His fingers twitched nervously at his side and he shifted restlessly from one foot to the other like he simply couldn’t stand to be still.

Dean understood the feeling since he was hardly ever able to stay in one position for very long. “Alright, well, let’s get cooking, then, I guess.”

They moved around the kitchen with a synchronicity that was so comfortable, it almost felt practiced. Cas mixed the pancake batter; Dean hummed _Out on the Tiles_ as he flipped bacon in a frying pan. Neither pulled away when their arms incidentally brushed together. And Cas didn’t move when Dean very intentionally pressed his chest into Cas’s back as he reached around the angel for a spatula.

Dean lingered for longer than was strictly necessary, wondering if Cas could hear the way his breath hitched in his throat and feel the erratic pounding of his heart in his chest. Dean definitely noticed the way the angel leaned into him ever so slightly before he pulled away to return to the bacon.

All in all, it didn’t take long to finish cooking. As they sat down to eat, Dean wished it had taken longer. He enjoyed the closeness and now that Cas was all the way on the other side of the small table, Dean felt like they were entirely too far apart.

They ate and talked. Cas told Dean more about the angels and Heaven. He talked a lot about Gabriel, and Dean pretended it didn’t blow his mind that Cas spoke about a frigging archangel like they were family. He supposed they were, in a weird cosmic way. Dean returned the favor by telling Cas about Sam, the way he’d run off to college and how proud Dean was that his brother was finding happiness and success outside of the life.

For the first time in probably his entire life, Dean felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.


	9. Chapter 9

It was early in the morning but Castiel’s grace had recharged enough that he no longer needed to sleep. So, he sat in the kitchen and, for the hundredth time, closely examined the flowers he’d bought from that red-headed woman. He recognized the blooms, of course. Castiel had spent much of his time in gardens, caring for plants and trees. It was peaceful work and he’d enjoyed it very much.

He understood the meanings behind each blossom as well. That was what had Castiel returning to study them again and again. A black rose for ‘death,’ a lily for ‘honor,’ and dame’s violets for ‘watchfulness.’ Coupling that with the fact that the woman who offered them had not, in fact, been a woman at all, Castiel was on edge. He’d seen her sunken eyes and skeletal frame, the true form of Maman Brigitte, as she was often called by the locals.

The death loa offered him a warning, or perhaps a reminder, that it was not up to Castiel which souls departed this Earth and which did not. Most angels would take no heed of an admonition from a pagan deity, but if one could strike a tenuous peace with them, they were often helpful. It was something Castiel learned from Gabriel’s agreement with Loki.

Castiel was well aware that he should never have brought Dean back from the dead. The reason such a feat was so taxing on his Grace was that he was never meant to do it. It was dangerous for him, especially. Flying under Heaven’s radar was not as easy as Castiel had made it out to be when Dean asked.

In much the same manner that hunters tracked signs of werewolf packs, vampire dens, and demonic possessions; the Host tracked signs of angelic presence on Earth. It would be foolish to assume Castiel was safe because no other angel had come to take him back the Heaven.  The power he had selfishly used to revive Dean could serve as a beacon. Or the Host could ignore him completely. He hadn’t the faintest idea if they were even interested in his location.

Dean groaned loudly and Castiel silently walked over to stand in the doorway of the bedroom. Leaning against the jamb, he watched with a smile as Dean rolled onto his back. Whatever he was dreaming about must have been pleasant because his face was relaxed, softened by the blanket of pale moonlight that washed over him, and the corners of his lips turned up slightly. 

Castiel fought the urge to climb into the bed next to Dean and wrap him up in his arms, breathe the scent of him in until it was a part of Castiel. This wasn’t the first time Castiel had ever experienced love, but it was different, somehow. Perhaps it was because Dean was his soulmate; maybe that was why Castiel felt such a deep, profound bond with him after so short a time.

The ‘why’ of it wasn’t all that important. His entire being vibrated with love for Dean, and Castiel wanted to be one with him in every possible way. But beyond flirtation and a sincere interest in finding Castiel a food he could actually enjoy, Dean had yet to make any indication that he might feel the same way. Or even that he  _ had _ a soulmate to search for. So, Castiel wouldn’t tell Dean how he felt, and he certainly wouldn’t share the reason he’d revived him. 

He watched the hunter for a moment longer before returning to the kitchen. Soon the sun would rise, and Dean would grumpily make his way out of the bedroom in search of coffee.

* * *

 

Two hours later, Dean was stirring and Castiel was already pouring him a cup of coffee. Dean was shirtless, and Castiel could see the wound on his chest had healed enough for the stitches to be removed. He would have to take care of that later. For now, Castiel carried the steaming mug over to the table as Dean sat heavily in the chair.

“Good morning,” Castiel said, stopping only a few inches in front of Dean to set the cup on the table next to him. Dean looked up at him with a small grateful smile, and bright, wide green eyes that stopped Castiel in his tracks and made his heart race. 

He was caught in them and couldn’t look away.

Dean looked soft and rumpled, still in that state between being asleep and awake. His hair stuck up at odd angles and lines from the fabric of the pillowcase imprinted on his skin. His cheeks flushed pink and his eyes were a little unfocused. 

Castiel brushed a thumb across one of the lines left on Dean’s cheek by his slumber, and watched Dean’s lips part slightly as his breath caught and he leaned into Castiel’s touch. 

He leaned down until all he could see before he closed his eyes was Dean’s freckles, and the warmth of their breaths mingled together as Castiel tentatively kissed Dean. Dean’s lips were soft and pliant under Castiel’s, and his hands slid up Castiel’s sides, holding him there as the kiss deepened. Emotion swelled so rapidly in Castiel that he thought his heart might burst out of his chest, and he knew he had to tell Dean how he felt. 

It was Dean that broke the kiss. He stared up at Castiel with his wide, dilated eyes and his heavy, erratic breath fanned over Castiel’s skin. Dean’s hands still gripped Castiel’s sides, fingertips digging into the muscle just a little.

“Dean,” Castiel began, surprised at the deep rasp of his own voice. “I have been waiting for the right time to tell you this.” Castiel cupped Dean’s face in his hand. “You are my soulmate, Dean. And I know it hasn’t been very long but I love you.”

Dean’s eyes widened even further and he audibly sucked in a gulp of air. “Cas, I…” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed harshly. There was the spark of some emotion in his eyes. “I have to go back to the French Quarter and make sure that witch doctor I came here for is actually dead.”

Castiel pulled his hand away from Dean’s face as though he’d been burned. “Oh,” he said softly, taking a step back and marvelling at how quickly the pressure in his chest had turned from joy to pain. “I understand.”

Dean touched his arm and opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, but he quickly clamped it shut and looked away. “I should get dressed.”

Castiel moved out of the way, crossing a kitchen that had never seemed quite as small as it did in that moment to lean against the counter. He shouldn’t have said anything but it was too late to take it back now. Keeping his face as blank as possible, Castiel watched Dean disappear into the bedroom, only to reappear a few minutes later fully dressed and with the duffel bag he’d brought in days ago.

Dean stopped by the table and looked at Castiel, lingering for a long, tense moment before he turned and started toward the door. 

Panic rose up unbidden in Castiel. If Dean walked out that door, this might be the last time Castiel ever saw him. “Do you need a hand?” he asked suddenly, the words spilling from him in a tumble of anxiety.

“No,” Dean said without turning back. He paused with a hand on the door knob. “I’ll see you, Cas.”

Castiel nodded, though he knew Dean couldn’t see him. “I’ll just wait here then.”

A heavy feeling of sadness settled over Castiel as the door closed behind Dean and he heard the rumble of the Impala outside. Dean’s reassurance that he would come back did not comfort Castiel.  The roar of the car’s engine disappeared, leaving nothing but a sense of finality behind in the old house.

For thousands of years, Castiel had searched for his soulmate, and it took less than five minutes to lose him. He'd thought he would be able to escape the cruelty of his Father's sense of humor. Unlike humans, he was able to spend time with Dean _after_ finding out that he was his soulmate. Castiel thought that maybe, because of that, they would be able to have something a little more hopeful. Perhaps he shouldn’t lose hope entirely. Dean had said he would come back. Moving mechanically through the kitchen, Castiel made himself a cup of tea and sat down at the little table, pointedly ignoring the still full mug of coffee Dean had left there. 

Castiel was staring blankly at the wall, unsure of how much time had passed, when he heard a familiar voice in his mind. It was Gabriel and the message was short and clear. 

_ He’s coming. _

That could mean only one thing, but Castiel wasn’t sure it mattered at that point. Dean had rejected him and left. He probably wouldn’t be coming back. So, if the Host wanted to take Castiel back to Heaven, what difference did it make?

Castiel’s heart was too heavy to move or try to escape when the blinding white light that heralded the arrival of another angel surrounded his home. When the glow faded, Castiel felt a presence behind him but he didn’t bother turning.

“Hello, Michael.”


	10. Chapter 10

God damn it, Dean was an idiot. He tightened his grip on Baby’s steering wheel as he drove. That kiss was something else. He’d thought his heart might explode while Cas’s warm lips were pressed against his own. And then Dean, of course, ruined everything. Like he always did. 

Fuck.

Anxiety roiled inside Dean. Not only had he not told Cas how he felt, but he left immediately after. Dean had pretended not to see the pain in Cas’s eyes as he leaned against the kitchen counter, and he had walked right out the damn door. But words had escaped him. Just exactly how did one respond to ‘you’re my soulmate and I love you?’ Especially when it came from an angel.

An angel that didn’t really know much about Dean at all. It wasn’t like he’d opened up about his life to Cas. Dean hadn’t told him about his parents, or the hell that was his childhood. 

His parents had been soulmates, confirmed the night of the fire, and when Mom died it had broken his Dad. Dean didn’t want to know if Cas was his soulmate. Ever.

And then the stupid, beautiful angel that liked to read the same books as Dean and cared about humanity and blushed when Dean flirted with him had said those three little words. And Dean, the dumbass that he was, ran away.

Just like always.

Dean just needed to get his shit together, process the whole thing. It had been an eventful couple of weeks. He white-knuckled the steering wheel with one hand and absentmindedly ran a finger over the words ‘ _ hello Dean’ _ on his forearm. 

As he rolled up to the house in the French Quarter, Dean tried to push all of his thoughts of Cas to the back of his mind and focus. The hinges creaked noisily as Dean swung the unlocked door inward, gun loaded with witch killing bullets in hand. 

Making his way through the house slowly, Dean cleared rooms one at a time before moving on to the next. It was empty; the only things left behind were a few bloodstains and some broken furniture. Dean assumed they were the result of the fight that had ended in his own injury the first time he’d been there, though he still couldn’t remember a damn thing about it.

It didn’t really matter. The witch doctor was clearly gone.

Climbing back into the Impala, Dean turned the ignition on and just sat there. What the hell was he going to do now? He could just get on the highway, leave now and head to wherever Dad was. Of course, Dean would have to deal with the fallout of telling Dad the witch doctor got away.

Or he could stop being an emotionally constipated jackass and actually talk to Cas. 

Sighing, Dean put the car in drive and pulled out onto the road. He needed to go back. Even if he couldn’t bring himself to tell Cas how he felt, the guy saved his life. He at least owed him a real goodbye before he got back on the road.

Dean owed him more than that. He owed Cas honesty. But he didn’t know if he could handle telling Cas he loved him. Not with his history. Not when the people he loved always left him, one way or another.

The truth was Dean had no idea what he was going to say to Cas when he got back to the house. All he knew was that he had to go back.

* * *

 

“Hello, Castiel,” said the woman behind him.

Castiel turned to face her, taking in her blue eyes and the dark brown hair that hung straight to her shoulders. Beneath that, though, was the familiar form of someone he hadn’t seen since he left Heaven. “Would you like a cup of tea, Michael?”

She stepped toward him, and Castiel gestured to the empty chair on the other side of the table. “While I… appreciate your hospitality, this isn’t exactly a social call,” Michael replied as she took the offered seat. 

“Very well,” Castiel said, raising an eyebrow. “What are you here for, then?” Castiel knew the answer, but he asked anyway. He didn’t know if Dean was coming back or not, but if he showed up while Michael was still there, it would be dangerous. There was no telling how Michael might turn his wrath on Dean.

“As it turns out, Castiel,” Michael began, leaning forward and clasping her hands over the table. “You are an abomination. Angels were never meant to have soulmates.”

“I am aware,” Castiel sighed. “That’s why I left and why I’ve hidden myself for so long.”

Michael laughed. “You were never really hidden, Castiel. We’ve been tracking your whereabouts for as long as you’ve walked the Earth. Gabriel’s, too. Your pitiful search for your soulmate simply never warranted enough of my attention until now.”

Castiel sipped his own tea, keeping his expression impassive. It was a shock to know that the Host had always known where he was. “Why now?”

“Dean Winchester, of course.” Michael sighed and shook her head. “We have plans for him, and you? Well, you are interfering with those plans. If he continues on his current path, he will not make the choices I need him to. And his path has changed because of you.”

Castiel shook his head. “Dean is gone and I sincerely doubt he is coming back. I… ruined things with him.”

“Castiel, do you doubt me?” Michael asked, standing and leaning over the table with fire in her eyes and venom in her voice. “Dean Winchester will return for you. But you will be gone before he arrives.”

“Michael, I don’t want to go back to Heaven,” Castiel said. Hope sprung up in his chest at the idea of Dean coming back for him. But even if he didn’t, Castiel had made a home for himself on Earth. He enjoyed the company of humanity, and he didn’t want to leave that behind.

Michael shook her head. “You misunderstand me, Castiel.” Leaning back so she stood straight and tall, Michael snapped her fingers. A long, intricately carved wooden staff appeared in her hand. At its end, a four-edged silver blade loomed. “You will not be returning to Heaven.”

Castiel’s heart thumped violently in his chest. The Lance of Michael would mean a slow, agonizing death for him, and if Dean did return, it would be to Castiel’s corpse. He should fight, but what would be the point? Even at full power Castiel could never best an archangel on his own. “I’ve done nothing to deserve this, Michael.”

“Your existence is enough,” she said matter-of-factly, repositioning the lance as she spoke. “You are an affront to Heaven. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, Castiel. Truly, I do. But it is my duty to protect the Host, and that means I must end you.”

Michael didn’t waste any more time. Moving faster than even Castiel thought possible, she lunged forward, burying the blade of the lance in his chest with such force that he was knocked back, tipping his chair and landing hard against the wooden planks of the kitchen floor. Michael pulled the blade from his body and stepped away.

“Michael,” Castiel said through gritted teeth. The blow itself was not as painful as he’d expected. But the poisonous magic that was already flooding through him was agonizing. He groaned with the anguish. It was beyond the pain that coursed through his vessel, tearing his very being apart so that he couldn’t breathe and his vision started to blur.

“I am sorry it had to be this way,” Michael said softly. And then she was gone.

And Castiel was left to die alone.


	11. Chapter 11

Something was wrong. 

Dean wasn’t sure how he knew but he did. He was driving too fast but it didn’t matter, he had to get back to Cas. The pit forming in Dean’s stomach spurred him on, and suddenly it made no difference that he had no idea what he was going to say to the angel when he got there.

Dean just needed to be with Cas.

He pulled the car into the driveway, threw it in park, and yanked the keys from the ignition as he stepped out. The sun shone brightly on his back and the sky was clear and blue. The ground was finally starting to dry up some, though his boots still squelched in spots of mud as he made his way to the door. 

It was unnervingly quiet when Dean turned the knob, finding it unlocked, and stepped over the threshold without bothering to knock the mud off his feet. Maybe there was still a chance for him here. “Cas? You here?”

Dean heard an agonized groan and his heart skipped a beat. Three steps and he was in the kitchen. Three steps and his world was crashing around him.

Cas was prone on the floor, eyes closed and covered in sweat. Black veins crept up his neck and into his face, and there was a bloody, gaping hole in his chest. Time slowed to a screeching halt as Dean closed the distance between them, falling to his knees next to the angel and lifting his head to rest against Dean’s thighs.

“Cas,” Dean said, cupping the angel’s cheek roughly with one hand. “Come on, Cas, stay with me.”

The angel moaned again but his eyes remained closed, and Dean blinked back tears. This couldn’t be happening. He had only been gone for a couple of hours. Cas was an  _ angel _ for God’s sake.

Dean slapped at Cas’s cheeks gently, trying to wake him up. “Come on, angel, open your eyes for me, please.” He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a flash of blue eyes.

Castiel smiled up at him for a moment, his breathing shallow and labored. “Hello, Dean,” he rasped before his eyes closed again.

The dark, inky phrase faded from Dean’s skin as tears filled his eyes and blurred his vision. “No, don’t you say that. Don’t you do this to me, you son of a bitch!” he yelled. “Stay with me, Cas. Please, stay with me.” 

He had to do something; he had to save Cas. Dean pressed his palm against the hole in the angel’s chest, trying to stem the flow of blood. “Cas, please, don’t go. You gotta stay with me. I love you, angel. I’m sorry I left. I’ll do anything, but you gotta stay.”

Cas wasn’t moving anymore. He didn’t make a sound. His chest no longer rose and fell with harsh, erratic breaths. His body rested limply against Dean’s legs.

Dean squeezed him tightly, close to his chest and sobbed brokenly, begging under his breath for Cas to wake up.

* * *

 

It wasn’t difficult to find a place to set up the pyre with pieces of the broken kitchen table and the shelves from the living room. Most of the area was still deserted, and Cas’s house was on the outskirts of town anyway. Dean didn’t bother wiping away the tears that streamed down his face as he watched the blaze. He didn’t know how exactly death worked for celestial beings, but Cas deserved a hunter’s funeral.

Dean watched the fire consume the cotton-wrapped corpse until it started to die down. The air around him felt like molasses; moving through it a nearly impossible feat. But he managed to trudge back to the car, get in, and drive slowly back to Cas’s house.

Quietly, he went through the same door as always, walking into the tiny kitchen that he’d spent so much time over these last weeks. Cas’s blood still coated the floor. Dean swallowed harshly and looked for something to clean it with. There was a mop and bucket in a closet, so he silently, methodically filled the bucket and mopped the floor until it was clean again.

Dean knew he should leave. Without Cas, there was nothing tying him to this house or to New Orleans. He couldn’t bring himself to go.

A week passed. 

A week of Dean laying in Castiel’s bed, cradling a shirt that hadn’t been washed and still smelled like the angel. A week of tears and sleepless nights. A week of ignored meals and phone calls. A week since Dean got out of bed.

He needed to get up, take a shower, do something. Dad was probably worried about him; Dean hadn’t checked in with the old man since he woke up in Cas’s house. They were way past their two-week check.

Rolling out of the bed, Dean crossed the floor to the bathroom and turned the shower on as hot as he could stand before undressing and stepping in. He closed his eyes and tried to bury his emotions while he bathed. Dean stayed in the shower until the water ran cold.

Drying his hair and face with the towel that hung on the wall, Dean stepped up to the mirror and wiped away the condensation to see how badly he needed to shave.

His reflection stopped him in his tracks.

Dean leaned in, hand drifting up to his chest as his heart thundered. Just off center in the middle of his chest, right over his heart, he read  **_I’ll hold them all off_ ** . He rubbed at it in disbelief, but the phrase remained printed on his skin. 

It was impossible. Cas had died in his arms. Dean had felt the angel’s last breath, had put his body on the funeral pyre and burned it.

But there it was, clear as day in the foggy mirror. Dean laughed out loud, ignoring the fact that he sounded insane even to his own mind.

Cas was alive.

Dean dried off the rest of the way and got dressed. He raced outside, jumping into the car, shutting the door, and turning the ignition before he backed out of the driveway for the last time. 

* * *

 

It was still dark out when Dean picked the lock to his brother’s door. After driving for two straight days, he figured he would just go in and crash on the couch until the sun came up. Then he could talk to Sam. Dean did not expect for Sam to sneak up on him.

When he felt the hand on his shoulder, Dean reacted automatically, knocking it away and striking out at whoever had touched him. He knocked his attacker into another room, exchanging a few blows until he had him pinned on the floor. “Woah, easy there, tiger.”

“Dean?” Sam asked through heavy breaths. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“Yeah, well, you’re out of practice,” Dean replied with a grin. He had missed his brother. 

Sam grabbed Dean’s hand and twisted, flipping him over and putting a foot squarely on his back to hold him down. 

“Or not,” Dean said, tapping the floor where Sam was pinning him. “Alright, get off me.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sam asked as he stood and offered Dean a hand.

“I didn’t mean to freak you out. I was just gonna crash out on the couch until you woke up,” Dean said. “I was looking for a beer when you assaulted me.”

“Dean, what are you doing here?”

Dean sighed. “I told you about Cas, right?” Sam nodded. “Well, I need your help. It’s kind of a long story. But Cas is an angel.”

“What?” Sam asked.

“Uh, Cas is an angel. He’s my soulmate and it’s complicated. But he’s missing and I need you to help me find him.”


End file.
